Catching Fire
by VoyICJ
Summary: Minor spoiler warning. A fire breaks out in the Abbey and Charles Carson faces his worst nightmare.
1. Scenario 1

This story is first and foremost a birthday gift for the lovely, amazing **Kissman**. She's one of the kindest, most gifted writers out there and I hope this story offers a bit of distraction in a difficult time. Happy Birthday, my dear!

My thanks goes (as always) to **Kouw**, who generously provided some very last-minute beta-reading and whose improvements and lovely comments never fail to make me happy.

Finally, this story is a bit different. When I initially thought of this idea, I came up with two different scenarios. I couldn't decide which I liked best, so I wrote them both. The beginning of the story will be the same for both scenarios but the rest will be different. So this chapter is the first scenario I came up with. The second chapter will correspondingly be the second scenario. I hope you'll enjoy both.

Oh and to be safe: Very (very!) mild spoiler warning. 

**Catching Fire**

The only thing filtering through his overwrought mind were screams. High-pitched, panicked screams of women. Loud, piercing wails of children. Anxious, commanding yells of men.

Charles Carson was in a trance. He stood in front of the impressive 17th century building – his home – and watched the scenes around him unfolding with strange abstraction. He watched family, guests and female staff huddling in little groups on the grass. Hallboys and footmen were running around; headlessly, uncoordinatedly carrying buckets full of water towards the building. Flames were licking out of the windows of the top floors, smoke hung thickly in the crystal clear night air.

He couldn't do much more than stare at the whole scene. He had been full of adrenaline seconds before, but now he was stunned into inactivity by the red and orange blazing colours licking away at the black night sky.

How could this evening have gone awry so quickly? The dinner party had been a success, the guests once more awed by Downton's perfect standard, its glorious splendor.

Downton's butler had only just put his head down to catch a few hours of sleep when Tom Branson had burst into the male servants' corridor – causing such a ruckus with his yells of 'fire' that the women on the other side of the dividing door had fallen out of their beds just like their male counterparts.

Charles Carson had barely taken the time to snatch his dressing gown before ordering the male servants to make sure that evacuation was underway before following Mr. Branson down the main stairway. He had briefly helped some of the guests and family to safely make their way outside before Lord Grantham had informed him of the fire's location. Carson had quickly run outside, intent on overseeing and coordinating the staff's firefighting attempts. He knew it could take some time until the fire brigade arrived – readying the newly acquired steam-powered pump and getting it to the Abbey by horse would take thirty minutes at least.

Upon stumbling outside unto the Abbey's vast front court, however, his adrenalin-filled operation mode had come to a complete standstill. 

In the end it was Beryl Patmore's shrill voice that pulled him out of his momentary stupor. She ran towards him, eyes wide, hair sticking out of her bonnet.

"Mr. Carson! Have you seen Mrs. Hughes?"

He suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe; an icy fist of dread closing around his heart. "What do you mean? Hasn't she come down with you?"

"No, I thought she might have gone with you. It all happened so dreadfully fast…," Downton's cook broke off, her eyes fearfully gazing at the burning building.

Fate couldn't be this cruel, Charles Carson thought darkly. Surely fate wouldn't allow his last words to her to be '_I honestly thought you'd have more common sense than that. Alas, I was wrong again_.' He knew he shouldn't have allowed politics to be discussed during dinner. Nothing good had ever come from that. He had been fed up with her teasing and her readiness to accept the – totally inappropriate – change in British politics. Just this once he would have liked her to agree with him.

"Mr. Carson, what are we to do?" Mrs. Patmore broke into his musings. "I can't see her anywhere."

Images sprang up in front of his inner eye – terrible images. Mrs. Hughes trapped in some room, alone and afraid. Mrs. Hughes lying unconscious at the foot of some stairs. Mrs. Hughes with her eyes closed, her face deathly pale.

"Barrows!" Carson bellowed wild-eyed when he spotted his under-butler nearby. To his credit the young man bustled over eagerly. "You must make sure that the waterline doesn't break. Tell the lads to get as close as they can, but to not bring themselves in any danger. If we are able to contain the fire until the fire brigade arrives, we've gained a big enough victory."

Thomas gave a curt nod and hurried off, already barking orders to any male servant he could find.

"Mr. Carson…," Mrs. Patmore began again.

"Mrs. Patmore, make sure that all the other servants are accounted for. Tell the fire brigade that Mrs. Hughes and I are somewhere in the building. They'll know what to do."

"You can't go back inside! It's too dangerous!" Mrs. Patmore protested.

"I can't leave her in there!" Carson returned forcefully. He gave Mrs. Patmore a grim nod and then sprinted off towards the main entrance. He ignored the calls of the family, imploring him to stop.

/ 

He hurried through the building, entirely unsure of where he should start looking. He quickly ruled out the downstairs area. That part of the Abbey was not yet affected by the fire and if she had been down there, she could have made her own way outside.

The main staircase wasn't really accessible due to its close proximity to the fire, so he hurried around to the servant's stairway further back. He took the steps two at a time, adrenalin overruling his body's protests at the exertion. The closer he came to the second floor landing, the thicker the smoke became. He couldn't for the life of his think of a reason for her to have come here, but he needed to make sure.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he called loudly, grateful for his deep, booming voice that carried over the roar of the fire at the end of the hallway. It was hot on his end of the hallway, but not yet unbearably so. He listened intently, but didn't hear anything. He quickly walked further into the hallway, continuously calling her name.

"Mrs. Hughes! Answer me, woman!" he demanded. Surely, ordering her to answer would do the trick. If she didn't answer, he could either search every single room or try his luck on the servant's floor. He listened again and just as he was about to turn around and head back towards the staircase, he thought he heard something.

He pushed into one of the small maintenance and laundry rooms and gasped at the sight that greeted him. One of the small boilers in the room appeared to have burst due to the heat from the fire. Shelves were overturned; towels and sheets covered the floor.

And underneath one of the shelves lay his elusive housekeeper.

"Mrs. Hughes!" he exclaimed in a panic.

"Mr. Carson. I'm afraid I'm stuck," she replied timidly – unable to express the sheer relief that flooded through her at that moment.

He immediately set to work pulling debris off her, reassured by her open and alert eyes that followed his movements. He was easily able to remove pieces of burst wood but struggled with the larger shelf that had buried her legs. His struggles became increasingly frantic as more and more smoke filtered into the small room. Coughs eventually overtook him as the acrid smoke filled his lungs and caused his eyes to water. He momentarily stopped his efforts and knelt down next to her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hughes. I'll have you free in no time." He hoped his voice was reassuring because in all honesty he wasn't certain whether he'd be able to lift the shelf.

He scrambled to get up again, but her hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his sleeve in a death grip. He turned back towards her with wide eyes.

"Leave me, Mr. Carson, please!" She looked at him imploringly. She smiled bravely, intent on getting him to leave her, to save himself. She would only cry her bitter tears of fear and desperation after he had left.

He gazed at her with solemn eyes and just as she was certain that her act of bravado had convinced him, his hand gently, tenderly cupped her cheek. His eyes seemed to burn into her as he whispered a single word. "Never!"

/

Charles Carson sighed deeply as he stared at the white ceiling of Downton Hospital. No matter how much he had protested that he didn't need medical attention, Dr. Clarkson would not be swayed. So he had spent the last night in the village hospital, getting some additional oxygen to his great consternation.

At least Dr. Clarkson had been able to tell him in the early hours of morning that the Abbey still stood, the damage extensive but not beyond repair.

He closed his eyes tiredly as the events of the last night rushed back to him.

He had been unable to lift the shelf. He had pushed and pulled with all his might, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. In the end, coughs overtaking him, he had sunk to the floor next to Mrs. Hughes – grabbing her hand tightly. She had once again begged him to leave. He hadn't answered, only allowed his thumb to brush over the back of her hand.

The most terrifying moment had been when he had looked at her a few moments later and realized that she had lost consciousness. He would never forget that horrible, heart-stopping feeling of devastation that had seized him in that moment. He had allowed a few tears to escape as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

He had been ready to welcome death when the door to the small laundry room had been thrown open again and Tom Branson had tumbled into it. The arrival of the former chauffeur had given Mr. Carson new energy and together with the young man he had managed to free Mrs. Hughes. He had wanted to carry her outside but Mr. Branson quickly reminded him that he had been exposed to the deathly fumes for some time and it would be safer to let him carry the unconscious housekeeper.

It had taken them a surprisingly small amount of time to return to the back stairway, the fire thankfully still confined to the beginning of the hallway and before long all three of them had stumbled outside.

Instantly they had been surrounded by relieved servants, family members and staff from the hospital.

Mrs. Hughes had been swiftly taken out of Branson's arms while he himself had been supported to a nearby car although he had protested loudly that he wasn't important. All he had been able think about was Elsie Hughes and how devastating it would be to find out now that all their efforts had been in vain. She had been so terribly pale, so frightfully still. 

He was broken out of his dark recollections by Lady Mary's melodious voice flowing through the empty hospital ward.

"How is the hero of the hour?" she teased gently, gratified to see him looking much better than he had the night before.

Carson scrambled up in his bed, trying to give a dignified impression. "I'm very well, milady. And I don't know what you mean with hero. Mr. Branson managed to save the day."

"Nonsense, Carson. There is no other topic in the village today than your heroic refusal to leave Mrs. Hughes behind. Grandmama finds the whole thing terribly inappropriate."

That explained the strange, admiring looks the nurses had given him all morning. Charles felt his face begin to colour. "I'm sorry if I've caused the family any discomfort."

"Don't be ridiculous, Carson." Lady Mary interrupted him haughtily. He lowered his head and missed the tender look on Lady Mary's face.

"Carson," she began softly, her eyes focussed on the small bag in her hand, "all through my life you've been there to support me. You always managed to put things into perspective and gave invaluable advice. I would like to return the favour if I may."

Carson nodded slowly, entirely uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"You once told me that I should take faith and tell Mr. Crawley about my feelings for him because I'd regret it if I didn't. Who knows how much more time we would have had if I had followed your advice. I should like you to keep your own advice in mind in the next couple of days. You should also know that even Ladies have their favourites and we do tend to stand up for those that we favour." She raised her eyes again and fixed him with her solemn glare.

Charles Carson was unsure how to react to Lady Mary's words. They were far too personal to be directed at a servant but he found himself strangely moved and grateful.

"Now Carson, I heard Dr. Clarkson say that you are fit to be released and I'm sure you must be glad to be out of this place."

"Very," Downton's butler replied, thankful for their return to normal ground.

"I have to go and visit Grandmama for a while but in about an hour I'd be able to take you back to the Abbey by car."

"That won't be necessary, milady. I can walk just fine."

"I won't listen to any objections. Dr. Clarkson has advised for you to take it easy in the next couple of days and I will make sure that the doctor's orders are obeyed. I'm sure you can find something useful to do in the next hour. Maybe you, too, have someone you wish to visit." Lady Mary smirked in the most unladylike manner and swept from the room before Carson had the chance to reply. 

Packing his small valise had taken no time, gathering the courage to make his way to the women's ward decidedly more so. When he finally arrived, he walked straight into one of the nurses, who, upon seeing him, immediately broke out into a soft smile.

"Ah Mr. Carson, are you here to visit Mrs. Hughes?" she asked nicely. He gave a curt nod, disconcerted by the nurse's overly familiar behaviour.

"You're very lucky. She's awake and she happens to be the only woman on the ward right now. I'm sure she'd love a visit from you."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows drew together as he listened to the nurse's inappropriate chatter. "Would you mind announcing me?" He didn't want to surprise Mrs. Hughes. He knew how uncomfortable it was to be visited on one's sickbed without any proper warning.

"Oh of course, excuse me Mr. Carson." The nurse finally bustled back into the room from which she had come only moments before, closing the door firmly behind herself.

Charles Carson clasped his hands behind his back, curling and uncurling them in an unconscious attempt to calm himself. He hadn't seen her since last night. The relief he had felt when Dr. Clarkson had told him that she was going to be alright – no broken bones and excellent response to the oxygen therapy – had waned rather quickly as the happenings of last night rushed back to him. He had been rather familiar with her, had practically admitted his deep affection for her. He was altogether unsure how she'd react to his advances in the cold light of day. She might be uncomfortable (god knew he was), she might even still be angry about what he had said to her before the whole catastrophe had taken its course (he sincerely doubted that, though). In any case, his behaviour would have to be addressed.

When the nurse returned a few minutes later, Carson still felt unprepared for what was to come.

"She's ready to see you now," the nurse informed him – and again there was this soft, sentimental smile on her face. Mr. Carson nodded his thanks before taking a deep breath and entering the female ward. 

She was sitting up in bed in her dressing gown, her blanket tugged neatly around her legs, her hair made up expertly. She smiled invitingly when he came closer and he couldn't help but return her smile. He silently thanked the lord to find her in good health and even better spirits. She indicated with her right hand that he should sit down in the chair next to her bed and he gladly complied with her wishes.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired softly.

"Oh, not too bad. Dr. Clarkson said that I might be released as early as tomorrow. I'm afraid that it might take another week for my legs to return to their full functionality."

"You should take all the time you need to recuperate," he said firmly.

"What about you?" she asked, studying him intently.

"I'm fit as a fiddle. It was entirely unnecessary for me to spend the night, but you know how cautious Dr. Clarkson is. I am to take it easy for a few days apparently," the way he frowned on the last part clearly spoke of his displeasure with the Doctor's orders. Mrs. Hughes wisely chose not to comment and simply nodded.

Silence stretched between them and it wasn't the comfortable, easy one they usually enjoyed between them.

"Dr. Clarkson said that damage to the Abbey isn't as extensive as it first appeared," Carson spoke up, desperate to end the silence.

"Yes, yes… Anna said as much when she came to bring me some necessities this morning. It's a relief." Both nodded before falling silent again. Her hands fiddled with her blanket as he stared at his hands in his lap.

When he looked up again upon hearing her sigh deeply, he found her looking at him intently with her solemn eyes. He was captivated and found that he couldn't look away.

Her voice was soft when she spoke. "Why did you stay? Why didn't you leave me?"

He took a deep breath and studied her face for a moment. Did she really not know, he wondered. Or had she simply grown tired of keeping the truth of what was between them disguised underneath banter and unspoken agreement. Lady Mary's voice unbiddenly spoke up in his mind again and he took a deep breath.

"Because without you there would have been no reason to continue living." His voice was clear, strong, without any pathos. He had stated the truth, had nothing more to add.

She continued looking into his eyes and he didn't break their connection.

"I see," she replied after some time. He simply nodded, waiting for her to set the course.

"I believe that changes things," she finally added.

"I agree."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

Charles Carson couldn't shake off the feeling that this whole situation was supposed to go differently. Whenever he had imagined declaring his love for her – and he had done, more often than could be deemed proper – there had been tears and smiles and most importantly kisses.

"I would like to marry you," he explained quietly, "I would like to spend the rest of my life with you by my side."

She nodded and for the first time Carson saw a change in her facial expression. Her eyes seemed to sparkle through unshed tears.

"Of course that would only be acceptable if it were your wish as well," he finished, his hand itching to grab hers. The moment of silence that followed his admission seemed to stretch infinitely before she finally spoke up again in a soft voice.

"When I lay there, in that laundry room, I was convinced that I'd die. To have you there with me, to have you hold my hand, was the greatest comfort I could ever have imagined. I would like to keep that feeling of security." She admitted.

They looked at each other for another second before gentle smiles broke out on their faces.

"I believe that was a yes," Carson said gently.

"I believe you are right," Elsie Hughes tentatively covered his hand, which rested on her bed, with her own.

"Then I believe that it would only be appropriate for me to do this," he rumbled and leant forward. She felt her heart flutter with delicious expectation as his lips came closer. Before he had reached her, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his almost eagerly. His hand came up to gently cup her cheek as he marvelled at the feeling of kissing her. When he pulled back, tears of joy were falling from her long, curled lashes. He reached up his hands and tenderly brushed them from her cheeks with his thumbs.

"If I had known this was what it took, I'd have burnt down our home ages ago," Elsie chuckled softly.

"Oh, bite your tongue, woman," he huffed and then cut off her protest by kissing her once again.

They never saw Lady Mary ushering a bewildered Dr. Clarkson out of the ward a few minutes later.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed my little story. If you did, please leave a review. You can't imagine how happy they make me. I'm grateful for each and every one of them even if I don't always manage to reply.


	2. Scenario 2

I'm sure you're all tired of it, but I have to say it once again: Thanks to the incomparable **Kouw** for her beta magic!

A "short" explanation about this second scenario: When I was in the middle of writing the first one, I suddenly became insecure whether people might find it too unrealistic, too dramatic. So I came up with a different scenario that I considered slightly more realistic (it's still highly unrealistic, but this is fanfiction). A lot of reviewers speculated on what the second scenario could be and while all of the ideas were brilliant (and made me wish I had thought of them), my scenario is completely different. It does not have a sad ending so if you are afraid of that, you're safe.

I have left the beginning exactly as it has been in the first version so as to avoid any confusion. The new scenario begins after the first break.

I hope this version won't disappoint you if you've waited for something as equally dramatic as the first one.

* * *

**Catching Fire – version 2**

The only thing filtering through his overwrought mind were screams. High-pitched, panicked screams of women. Loud, piercing wails of children. Anxious, commanding yells of men.

Charles Carson was in a trance. He stood in front of the impressive 17th century building – his home – and watched the scenes around him unfolding with strange abstraction. He watched family, guests and female staff huddling in little groups on the grass. Hallboys and footmen were running around; headlessly, uncoordinatedly carrying buckets full of water towards the building. Flames were licking out of the windows of the top floors, smoke hung thickly in the crystal clear night air.

He couldn't do much more than stare at the whole scene. He had been full of adrenaline seconds before, but now he was stunned into inactivity by the red and orange blazing colours licking away at the black night sky.

How could this evening have gone awry so quickly? The dinner party had been a success, the guests once more awed by Downton's perfect standard, its glorious splendor.

Downton's butler had only just put his head down to catch a few hours of sleep when Tom Branson had burst into the male servants' corridor – causing such a ruckus with his yells of 'fire' that the women on the other side of the dividing door had fallen out of their beds just like their male counterparts.

Charles Carson had barely taken the time to snatch his dressing gown before ordering the male servants to make sure that evacuation was underway before following Mr. Branson down the main stairway. He had briefly helped some of the guests and family to safely make their way outside before Lord Grantham had informed him of the fire's location. Carson had quickly run outside, intent on overseeing and coordinating the staff's firefighting attempts. He knew it could take some time until the fire brigade arrived – readying the newly acquired steam-powered pump and getting it to the Abbey by horse would take thirty minutes at least.

Upon stumbling outside unto the Abbey's vast front court, however, his adrenalin-filled operation mode had come to a complete standstill.

In the end it was Beryl Patmore's shrill voice that pulled him out of his momentary stupor. She ran towards him, eyes wide, hair sticking out of her bonnet.

"Mr. Carson! Have you seen Mrs. Hughes?"

He suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe; an icy fist of dread closing around his heart. "What do you mean? Hasn't she come down with you?"

"No, I thought she might have gone with you. It all happened so dreadfully fast…," Downton's cook broke off, her eyes fearfully gazing at the burning building.

Fate couldn't be this cruel, Charles Carson thought darkly. Surely fate wouldn't allow his last words to her to be '_I honestly thought you'd have more common sense than that. Alas, I was wrong again_.' He knew he shouldn't have allowed politics to be discussed during dinner. Nothing good had ever come from that. He had been fed up with her teasing and her readiness to accept the – totally inappropriate – change in British politics. Just this once he would have liked her to agree with him.

"Mr. Carson, what are we to do?" Mrs. Patmore broke into his musings. "I can't see her anywhere."

Images sprang up in front of his inner eye – terrible images. Mrs. Hughes trapped in some room, alone and afraid. Mrs. Hughes lying unconscious at the foot of some stairs. Mrs. Hughes with her eyes closed, her face deathly pale.

"Barrows!" Carson bellowed wild-eyed when he spotted his under-butler nearby. To his credit the young man bustled over eagerly. "You must make sure that the waterline doesn't break. Tell the lads to get as close as they can, but to not bring themselves in any danger. If we are able to contain the fire until the fire brigade arrives, we've gained a big enough victory."

Thomas gave a curt nod and hurried off, already barking orders to any male servant he could find.

"Mr. Carson…," Mrs. Patmore began again.

"Mrs. Patmore, make sure that all the other servants are accounted for. Tell the fire brigade that Mrs. Hughes and I are somewhere in the building. They'll know what to do."

"You can't go back inside! It's too dangerous!" Mrs. Patmore protested.

"I can't leave her in there!" Carson returned forcefully. He gave Mrs. Patmore a grim nod and then sprinted off towards the main entrance. He ignored the calls of the family, imploring him to stop.

* * *

He had already entered the foyer when a pair of strong arms held him back.

"Mr. Carson!" Mr. Branson had taken a hold of the butler.

"Mr. Branson, let me go, Mrs. Hughes is still inside." Carson struggled against the younger man's grip.

"No, she's not!" Branson cried, hoping to get the older man to listen. "Look!" he said and turned the butler around so that he was facing the outside again.

There – hurrying towards the two men – was Mrs. Hughes – wide-eyed, terrified, but otherwise unharmed.

Carson felt his knees buckle with relief.

Branson tightened his hold on the older man's arm when he felt him waver but Carson's moment of weakness was over as quickly as it had begun. He freed himself from Tom's grip and stormed outside towards the housekeeper.

He needed to make sure that she truly was fine. He needed to touch her, reassure himself.

Before he reached her though, he became acutely aware of the family and the rest of the servants watching him intently – obviously bewildered and intrigued by his strange behavior of a few moments ago. The realization caused his head to clear with a start as embarrassment began coursing through his body.

"Where on earth have you been?" He thundered when he finally reached her. She had been about to grasp his arm with her outstretched hand, but let it fall back to her side at his outburst.

"I was inside, making sure that the downstairs area was clear," she explained. It wasn't necessary for him to know that she had been down there already when the news of the fire had spread through the house. He didn't need to know that it had been his unfeeling comments at dinner that had made sleep impossible to obtain and that had caused her to attempt to get some work done downstairs.

She was confused by the anger on his face, the tenseness of his shoulders, the way his hands curled and uncurled by his side.

She was even more confused than she had been by Mr. Branson taking off in a run towards the Abbey's main entrance the minute he had seen her making her way to the front of the building after her escape through the back entrance.

"That was entirely unhelpful, Mrs. Hughes. I thought I could at least rely on you to make level decisions in a crisis," he couldn't stop himself, his devastating fear of a few moments ago finding an outlet in his harsh and cold demeanor.

"Now, listen here, Mr. Carson…," she began to protest, bristling at his thinly-veiled insults.

"No, Mrs. Hughes, we haven't got time for a discussion now. Make sure the female servants are accounted for. I'll help the men contain the fire." He didn't even wait for her to acknowledge his orders. He swiftly turned around and marched back towards Mr. Barrow and the other men, leaving a seething housekeeper behind.

* * *

Elsie Hughes settled onto her settee with an exhausted groan. Her bleary eyes found the clock on her wall and she sighed when she realized that she'd have to get up again in an hour.

It had taken most of the night for the fire brigade to finally put out the fire. The early hours of the morning had then been spent accessing the structural damage until the Abbey was finally decreed safe enough for use – at least in parts. The housekeeper and the rest of staff had spent hours relocating guests and family members from the destroyed parts of the building to new and undamaged rooms.

Although the family had announced that everyone should be allowed a few hours of sleep, she knew that this didn't apply to her. Most guests wanted to leave after breakfast. Carriages and motors had to be arranged, the packing process supervised. And she really didn't want to think about the cleaning that she and her maids would have to do in the Abbey's damaged wing. She'd have to rewrite the complete work rota, take away half-days and get into contact with merchants to replace all the linen, towels, curtains, rugs and the countless other items that had fallen victim to the fire.

It didn't make sense to go up to her room, she knew that a meagre hour of sleep would do her more bad than good… although she could do without her corset digging painfully into her back. She decided to rest her eyes for only a moment before getting a head-start on tomorrow's duties.

Her head had barely touched the backrest of her settee when a soft knock rang against her closed door. She stifled the urge to growl with displeasure.

"Mrs. Hughes, I was wondering whether you'd like a cup of tea," Charles Carson stood sheepishly inside her door, carrying a tray. She appraised him coolly.

"No, thank you Mr. Carson. I'd rather have a few minutes of solitude."

He looked genuinely shocked by her refusal. He didn't react, but lingered uncertainly in her doorway. She nearly snorted with disbelief. Surely he hadn't expected that bringing her tea would make her forget what he had done, what he had said.

"Mr. Carson, today you have raised your voice to me once and insulted me twice. I think that's quite enough for one day," she explained when he still hadn't moved after a few moments.

"Mrs. Hughes..," he began tentatively but she interrupted him.

"I'm afraid I'm too tired to listen to any kind of explanation you could offer for your behavior. We'll have a busy day tomorrow and I suggest you go to your pantry and catch what little rest you can." Her voice was firm, unyielding.

His shoulders slumped slightly, his head hanging down to gaze at the two cups of tea on his tray. "I apologize for the interruption, Mrs. Hughes," he said quietly and then closed the door behind him as he exited.

She sighed deeply. Being this harsh to him, not giving in when he had looked so dejected, had taken all her strength but she was no longer willing to accept his behaviour towards her.

* * *

It was barely twenty minutes later when another knock fell upon her door. Elsie sighed in defeat, giving up on her plan to catch at least a few moments of sleep.

"Come in," she called tiredly.

The door opened to reveal Downton's cook carrying another tray filled with tea. "I thought we could take a moment before the madness begins," Mrs. Patmore explained and Mrs. Hughes nodded gratefully.

"Should I go and fetch Mr. Carson? I'm sure he could do with some fortification as well."

Mrs. Hughes tried to act nonchalant as she stirred her tea, but her body involuntarily tensed at the mentioning of his name. "No, he's in his pantry, trying to get some sleep. I say we let him."

"Is anything the matter?" Mrs. Patmore inquired, studying the housekeeper intently.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. He has been Mr. Carson, that's all," Elsie explained, relieved when the cook seemed to accept her explanation and simply sipped on her tea. There were a few moments of blessed silence before Mrs. Patmore spoke up again.

"You know what he did today, don't you?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more precise Mrs. Patmore. I can recall a great many things Mr. Carson has said and done today."

"I mean when he ran back into the burning building because he thought you were still inside."

Elsie Hughes froze in the middle of bringing her tea cup back to her mouth. She looked at her friend with wide eyes, unable to comprehend what the other woman had just said.

"What?" she finally breathed, her hand still suspended in mid motion.

"No one had seen you come down. I thought he'd have a heart attack when he heard." Mrs. Patmore's voice was calm, without any exaggeration. The housekeeper's mind was whirling with the implications of what Mrs. Patmore had just said.

"Daft man," she eventually muttered before finally taking a sip from her tea.

* * *

Mrs. Patmore left shortly after. Like Mrs. Hughes she had told her kitchen maids to grab an extra half hour of sleep. She herself would ready the kitchen and prepare breakfast.

Elsie Hughes meanwhile took a few turns around her sitting room, wringing her hands distractedly as she did so, her lower lip already a deep red from being worried repeatedly.

She couldn't remember any person – male or female – that had ever confused and exasperated her as much as the man currently in the room next to hers did. He treated her with something akin to contempt in one moment and then risked his life for her in the next.

There was nothing for it. She'd have to talk to him – if only to dispel the tension between them that would otherwise surely fester into an atmosphere.

She made her way to his pantry and knocked softly. Upon not hearing anything, she carefully opened the door and smiled softly when she saw him asleep in his chair. His position was altogether uncomfortable. She quietly debated whether she should let him get some more rest; he would certainly need any sleep he could get for the days to come.

In the end she decided that he wouldn't thank her for it and she really didn't want to offer him another reason to scold her.

She called his name softly, trying not to startle or embarrass him. When he didn't react, she walked a little closer and called his name again. He still showed no signs of rousing and Elsie Hughes felt her heart begin pounding. He was so still.

She was at his side in two quick strides and shook him forcefully, nearly shouting his name this time. She almost cried with relief when he shot upright, looking around wildly.

"What is it? What's happened?"

Mrs. Hughes took a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. "It's nothing, Mr. Carson, I apologize. You didn't want to wake and I knew you wouldn't appreciate oversleeping today," she explained her irrational actions of a few seconds ago.

Carson brought a shaking hand to his face and rubbed his eyes wearily. "For a second I thought we'd have yet another disaster to face."

"No, I believe one fire is enough." She took a moment to unabashedly study his tired face before realizing that she still stood rather close to him and taking a step back.

"Mrs. Hughes, I'd like to take the opportunity and apologize to you. My behaviour towards you has been most unkind and undeserved on your part." He looked at her with the same sheepish expression he had carried when he had come to her sitting room earlier that morning.

"I'm not going to say that I understand, Mr. Carson, because I really don't. I'll accept your apology, but in the future I'd appreciate it if you were able to avoid having to apologize at all." She looked him straight in the eyes, hoping to find something there that would support Mrs. Patmore's earlier implications.

He simply nodded, casting his eyes down to inspect his shoes.

Realizing that he was not going to explain himself any further, the housekeeper sighed quietly. Without another word she turned around and made to leave his pantry.

"I…," he suddenly spoke up and then stopped again. She turned back towards him and waited for him to look up again. When he did, they were glassy. "I thought you were still inside. I was… afraid." His voice was strangely strangled, a far cry from its usual commanding strength.

It took her only a second of watching the beaten down man in front of her before she sailed towards him. He opened his arms and she crashed into him, allowed him to pull her tightly against him. Her own arms encircled his waist and hugged him even closer as his mouth pressed a relieved kiss to the top of her head.

Before long she pulled back slightly, her arms still around his broad frame. She couldn't let this moment pass; she had waited too long for him to be this open with her. Maybe it was time to push him that last bit, that last meter that might tear down whichever walls were left between them.

"There can be no more snide comments, no more pushing me away after this," she insisted, her face serious. "Promise me!"

"I promise," he rumbled softly, without hesitation, before catching her lips in a gentle first kiss. A kiss that hinted at many more future promises._ To have and to hold, from this day forward._

* * *

So much for my more realistic approach. If you've enjoyed it… or if you wish to tell me that it sucked compared to the first one, please leave a review :)


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